


Love: Parting

by bluegrass



Series: By the Second Meeting [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Worship, Breakups - Temp, F/F, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Insecurity, Slight Anxiety, What is the meaning of life, butterfly kisses, couple fights, stretch marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:18:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9910856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass
Summary: "You're like a cat. If I get close, you'll ignore me and go far away. If I get hurt, you'll play around to share the pain." -Arima Kousei, Shigatsu Wa Kimi No Uso; You Lie in April





	

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a standalone or connected with the series. Enjoy

There had been no dally that at one point in time, I came to question the meaning of life. I was present in that age of curiosity. The restricting feeling of ignorance seemed to lack appeal to me even now, and I loathed the bitterness of being uninformed of important matters; more so answers.

I was bitter that way.

I questioned many things, however insignificant. I questioned anything and everything common. More than once, I find myself quite intrigued towards people who needed not to see behind the glass. I mean spectacles, of course. To see, hear, speak and feel will always be a mystery to those who’d never had the ability to do so since birth. And for the people who took it as the norm, they’d never have the curiosity to wonder.

And then I’d move on to wonder-

_Why do obligations exist?_

_How do we obtain happiness?_

_What is love?_

_Who do we worship?_

_When is it ever the right time?_

_Where are saviours when we need them?_

It was a fun time when I questioned even the credibility of my existence. I can’t say that the conclusion I came to had been any less than _pleasant_ , but my dearest Olivia, you’d always assure me otherwise so that was one question solved. I happily relinquished in the way the world’s secrets only meant so much in your words.

 _‘Do you actually love me?’_ I hear the voice ring like school bells in my ears. Truly, it was a shock when you forewent my affections and even doubted my feelings for you.

I left the room when you ceased to speak. It was irresponsible communication on my part, and that made it so the more realistic in our relationship. I was confident we’d grow closer after the fit of emotions though; the fight would prove to be a sharp stepping stone to knit our connection. But carefully note, that during the flight of moment in which I’d fled, development was certainly the last thing on my mind.

It hurt behind my indifferent façade. Then unquiet storms brewed in my veins. My bones ached from abuse, and they chilled from the cold sweat they seeped through the wide surface of skin. I felt vulnerable to let tears collect behind my eyes when I looked at your withdrawn figure as you asked. It was a blessing in disguise that you were attentive to the emotions that danced around you. I wasn’t aloof, nor calm at the still moment. Never had I been ever since your presence.

Yet you hadn’t realized how much I loved you? The childish anger roared into something more. My mind interpreted it into something much more and complex than just that. You looked upset, I remembered as I ran. You looked fearful. Why should you? How could you?

On the bus, I made a mental note to write a list of positivity of your space in mine. ‘Reasons why I love the love of my life’ I desperately hoped it’d serve as a weight to anchor me, ground me to every reason possible why I shouldn’t be angry at your doubt; betrayal tasted foreign on my tongue. Interesting yet, my stomach churned when I next asked myself if I was even worthy of the feeling known as betrayal.

On the list, I shan’t praise your appearance despite the fact I think green looks lovely against your skin, riddled with the abyss of the colours white and black fabrics. No, people are fickle with physical appearances and my feelings were never so vain. Instead, I praise your intelligence and witty remarks. You were always unaware of the subtle poetry that laced your words; even more so than mine.

My sweetest Olivia adored skin-ship. Another reason why. I revered the way your curls brushes against my nose when we slept in each other’s arms. The humble elation in your eyes when I kissed your hands and stomach in absolute worship. When I gently caressed the stretch marks, gave butterfly kisses on your forehead and feet.

‘You see me.’ You’d say.

‘I see you.’ I’d say.

And the way we’d smile on to each other’s skin terrified me. Shadows of your demons allowed my own to sleep at bay and in return I pacified them and it was beautiful.

One more thought to the list allows a hundred more. Our fights never lasted so long, yet exceptions were always made. I refused your desperate line of calls and ignored the sonnets of texts in which you’d spun. The line crossed this time was dangerously personal. I was afraid of the anger, betrayal and jealousy. I never wanted to hurt you to mirror my own, but to have you away was for the best. For once, I wasn’t confident in my inability to wound you with venom-laced words, marred with jagged edges.

A week had dragged to two and pairs became threes. Time went awfully quick; your calls became consistent after the first week: twice a day and a text at night.

The turmoil of emotions had dissipated after a while but I failed to reach out in fear of your reaction. I was now afraid to see your features warp in pain and sadness if you caught sight of me. It was a shameful reason but an excuse all the same. I felt no tug at my heart to reunite. It was like a breakup and the only difference was that you now knew I truly loved and adored you. Our slight misunderstanding was not due to any fall out in dedication.

You hadn’t come to visit me over at my place during the few painful weeks. I knew it wasn’t your own fear that slighted you. It was your kindness, my loveliest Olive; and careful consideration on your part for my own feelings. I smudged coal at the intercept of our circles; erased its touching curves and made it black. My voice hadn’t cried out when you knew I needed space in which you admiringly gave.

Reason never stayed. Unbridled anxiety was left to roam. Wolves would be able to smell my despair when I understood that if I saw you any earlier than I could, my mind would think:

How could you? How could you?  How… _could you_?

I prayed to a deity I came to doubt; that this love would never end.

Help me, please.

**Author's Note:**

> Olive is a nickname. Term of endearment and not a misspelling on my account.


End file.
